


Celebrate Something Special

by stads02



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Illya's Birthday, birthday au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4738865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stads02/pseuds/stads02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a Tumblr post by moonwolfhowl. </p><p>It's Illya's Birthday and Gaby takes it upon herself to celebrate it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebrate Something Special

 “Gaby!”

She turned from her lounge chair on the balcony that was looking over Paris with an eyebrow arched, “Yes, Solo?”

He looked like a small child who’d gotten candy from the sweets shop. Gaby also considered the fact that he was a thief, and a good one too. Her eyes narrowed.

“What did you do?”

He waved his hand in the air and gave her his classic suave smile, and sat down next to her on another lounge chair of their high end hotel room, “Oh please, it was nothing illegal. This time.”

Gaby shook her head, knowing that there was no stopping the man. It was simply in his being to steal, and that nothing and nobody would ever be able to stop him.

“What did you do?” she repeated the question, smiling vaguely trying not to look too interested.

Napoleon shook his head, still smiling and waved the little folder that she’d barely noticed. It was tan, and thick with papers. She spotted English and Russian letters on the folder.

“This, is a beautiful thing that I managed to get my hands on, for a simple borrow, not keep. And it’s not illegal in any way, since I had access to them, because a little birdy told me that the records keeper was lonely. She was quite pretty.”

He threw the folder on her lap, still looking smug.

“Read it.”

She opened the folder, to realize it was a dossier. On the left, a picture hung at the top of it by a paper clip.

Oh my.

_Oh my._

Her inner jester, the one that loved to play around and joke with people purred happily.

Napoleon reached over and tapped the paper at the top, “Look here.”

Her eyes zeroed in on the information that he’d pointed at. It appeared to be a basic medical record, seeming to be a general run through concerning physical condition, physical attributes, and distinctive features. Things that she didn’t know, even after months of their relationship.

She looked up to Napoleon questioningly, “What are you going to do?”

He took the folder from her, “That’s where you come in. The real question you should be asking Gaby, is what are _we_ going to do?”

Oh yes, the inside rebel of Gaby Teller was bouncing with pure glee and excitement.

“We have three days to plan.”

She nodded, “I’m in.”

Napoleon smiled, and began to walk away, whistling with the folder in his hands.

“Wait,” Gaby called, “You read his file?”

“Of course I did. Yours too,” he winked.

“Let me read it,” she frowned, sitting back up.

“No can do, Gaby, no can do,” Napoleon gave her a quick wave, and disappeared from her sight as he called out, “After all, this was a borrow, not a keep.”

 

 

Napoleon’s eyes furrowed, looking over to Gaby, “Are you sure he likes chocolate?”

“Yes,” Gaby said firmly, “But not dark chocolate.”

“And white chocolate?”

“He won’t even touch that. Stick to chocolate with vanilla.  He likes simple yet elegant things.”

Napoleon coughed and raised his eyebrows.

She swatted him with her cake magazine in her hand as he put flour into their shopping cart, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“But it still applies.”

Gaby wished that her cheeks wouldn’t blush all the time.

“Keep walking Gaby, we got a lot to buy, and you got a lot of tinkering to do.”

 

 

“AAAUUGGGHHH!” she growled and threw the wrench at the wall for good measure, right as Napoleon walked in.

“What’s wrong?”

“This stupid box just won’t WORK,” she said, shaking the wooden box angrily in his face, “I’m a car mechanic, not a toy maker.”

“But they’re rather similar,” Napoleon frowned, scanning the schematics of what she was trying to build.

“Not enough,” she frowned, fetching the wrench that was still stuck in the wall.

Napoleon smiled at her earnestly, “Just remember who you’re doing it for.”

Gaby nodded, and took a deep breath, sighing it out, “I know, I know…it’s just frustrating when it doesn’t make sense.”

She sat back down and went back to work, humming a German folk song while Napoleon wandered around her shop picking up the odd piece of metal here, and poking the odd pile of wires there, not seeming to have anything to do. She picked up her welding tools and carefully started transforming the metal to the shapes that she needed it to be for the gift with a shower of sparks. Just when she thought that Napoleon wasn’t going to respond to what she said, he surprised her.

“Well, he doesn’t make much sense to me, even after two years,” Napoleon frowned, “It’s fitting.”

She glared at him, the glare that he’d taught her and put down the welding tools and picked up the previously thrown wrench.

“My hand feels rather twitchy, Napoleon.”

His eyebrows raised, and then he smiled, “I’ve leave you to it,” and exited the shop in a fast walk.

 

 

Gaby couldn’t help but giggle like a small child as she woke up in her bed. Her feet pattered on the carpeted floor as she walked into the living area to the view that she was accustomed to. Illya was reading a newspaper, eating his very bland breakfast of oatmeal and orange juice as well as a breakfast sandwich, something that he had every day. In the small kitchen that the hotel had provided she could see Napoleon wearing one of his many aprons and cooking up something that smelled heavenly for himself, and as well as Gaby, who eagerly awaited it as she made herself a cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” she sang, her feet feeling lighter than they should have.

Illya looked up from his newspaper, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Napoleon smiled to her and winked. Today was the big day.

Gaby had quite perfectly dropped last evening that she felt like shopping. It was quite hard to sell to Illya, but with her pointing out that she’d left her flat in East Germany with all of her possessions in it, she would prefer if she could acquire some everyday clothes, but those in good style. It was a very old excuse, considering their first mission in Rome was two years ago but it still brought smiles to all of their faces.

“And what better place to go shopping then Paris?”

When Napoleon had offered his help and expertise, she knew it was hook, line, and sinker.

“I will accompany you too,” he frowned, “The cowboy does not know what he is doing.”

And so after her hearty breakfast and dressing in one of the dresses that Illya had picked out for her in Rome, specifically one that she knew that he quite liked, they were off.

Some people on the street looked at them, and Gaby surmised that they might have looked like a rather interesting trio. She, in the middle, with her favorite large sunglasses flanked by Napoleon, looking classy as ever in his suit, shooting any cute girl they passed by his award winning smile, and Illya, who had decided that perhaps not all days should be turtleneck days, and was simply wearing slacks and a dark button up shirt, who was glaring at nearly everybody on the street. Everybody except her that was, as he would occasionally lean in to her, placing his hand softly on the small of her back as he subtly pointed to a window of a clothing shop, asking if she liked or disliked what she saw.

The morning slowly passed, and it faded into Illya being non-negotiable about carrying Gaby’s purchases and then a lunch at a cute café. They lost Napoleon then, when his flirting with the waitress reached its critical point.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” he stated, “And I might not be back for a while.”

They bid him goodbye.

Gaby and Illya finished their lunch, and she turned to Illya, wondering what he would want to do, as they were finally alone.

 “I was thinking, we could see the gardens,” Illya murmured, the soft look in his eyes, hoping that he wasn’t in any sense putting his foot in his mouth.

She knew he tried, and that was what mattered. He would often forget some sort of celebration or certain holidays which existed in the rest of the world and she was left slightly disappointed, but only for a brief moment. In the long term, she would always feel happy because he would show his affection to her in small ways that made her feel much better than them celebrating holidays ever would.

“That sounds lovely,” Gaby smiled and they left the café, slowly strolling through the streets of Paris, content with each other.

In truth, she would always be more of a mechanic chop shop girl. The type to watch sports and scream at the television rooting for her team and swearing when the other team prevailed. Illya though, would always make the world’s difference. He constantly surprised her with little quirks that she would have never guessed that the Russian KGB trained giant would have known or liked. He made it so it didn’t matter if they were in a garden or in a pub or simply resting in one of the UNCLE safehouses.

They walked through the gardens, and he would occasionally point at a certain shrub, or bush, or flower patch, reciting facts about the plants to make them unique in their own way. When the sun began to set, she suggested they turn around and head back to their hotel and he agreed, looking pleased with himself and content.

Then they were at the hotel and the same excitement, the excitement that she’d felt in the morning was back and she could hardly stop bouncing on her feet as they rode up the elevator, and he turned the key in the lock of the room.

Gaby’s smile only grew larger as she saw his confused face when he opened the door.

Napoleon set the phonograph so it was playing smooth jazz softly, and the lights were dim and the smells that hit Gaby’s nose were incredible.

She lightly pulled on his hand, leading him inside their shared room as he looked around.

“I do not understand.”

Gaby smiled and led him to the table that Napoleon had set with fancy shining cutlery and wine glasses.

“Just wait for one moment,” she kissed his cheek when he sat down and she scampered to the kitchen to get her gift.

“I’ll stay in here Gabs,” he looked pleased with himself, “this food won’t cook itself. And besides, it’s not me who he’d want a romantic dinner with.”

Gaby grinned and wished him luck with the dishes and then appeared back to the table that had been set up, holding the present behind her back.

“Gaby? What is going on?” he asked, looking more and more bewildered.

“Well, a little bird told us that it was a special day for you, and we realized that you never told us and that we haven’t celebrated it yet.”

She could only watch his eyes widen and his face slacken.

Gaby pulled the little wrapped gift from behind her back and placed it in Illya’s hands.

“С Днем Рождения , мой специальный медведь.” _Happy Birthday, my special bear._  

The Russian words felt rough on her tongue, but its soft meaning made her smile even wider.

Illya’s big hands shook softly as he looked only at her and he opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Then he broke his eye contact, and carefully unwrapped the bow and string and the wrapping paper to reveal a little wooden box.

“Open it,”

His hands cradled the wood and the painted designs that she’d spent all of yesterday completing as he opened the lid and a soft sound came from it. A little ballerina popped up and twirled.

It was a music box.

“Swan Lake,” he murmured, and then looked up at her, his eyes shining and watery.

“You told me your mother and you saw it many times when you were young,” Gaby explained, “It might not sound right because I might have accidentally missed a note while making it, but-”

“You made this?” he asked, voice quieter and the most happy she’d ever heard it.

He watched the ballerina spin around clockwise briefly, then closed the lid, to look at the paintings that she’d put on it.

“Gaby,” he managed, and then he coughed, and looked red in the face.

“Illya, are you okay?”

“Yes, I-” He looked down and Gaby wouldn’t have seen it if the light didn’t reflect off the small tear that fell out of the corner of his eye.

And then he stood up from his chair and carefully placed the box down on the table and crushed her to his chest. She felt his chest moving as he cried happy tears and he murmured Russian, too low and too fast for her to understand.

Once he seemed to get more control of himself he loosened his grip on her, and she looked up to him.

“Gaby,” he started, and smiled, and she took the moment to reach up and stroke his cheek, taking the tears too, “I-I,” he tried, “My birthday has not been celebrated since I was ten. We celebrated by going to the best restaurant we could afford and I received a chessboard for my present. When she died I did not celebrate it. It only became a way to measure my age,” he hiccupped again, “Thank you. I will treasure it forever.”

It was Gaby’s turn to hug him tight and bring his face down to hers.

“Happy Birthday Illya.”

And she gave him his birthday kiss and many more for the years that he’d missed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> С Днем Рождения , мой = Happy Birthday, my special bear.


End file.
